Big Bad Beast (32 page)

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Authors: Shelly Laurenston

Tags: #Romance, #Fiction, #Paranormal, #General

BOOK: Big Bad Beast
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Yep, just another day in New York City.
“Everything all right, darlin’?” she asked.
Ric’s eyes narrowed a bit, his gaze on the valet in front of his restaurant. “Can you explain to me what possible reason my Uncle Van and your father would have getting out of the same car together?”
“I could—but you sure you want to hear that response?”
Putting his arm around Dee’s shoulders, Ric admitted, “As always you have made an excellent point.”
“I try.”
“I’d better get back inside,” he said, turning around and putting both his arms around her. “Make sure that food is getting out to the ravening, blood-thirsty hordes.”
“Or,” Dee said, hugging the man she loved, “you can just call ’em family.”
“Makes sense. We’re stuck with them anyway. Just like blood relations.”
“Such a positive viewpoint.”
“I do my best.”
Arms around each other’s waists, they headed back to the side door of the restaurant.
“I never got to say,” Ric told her, “how amazing you looked yesterday in that dress.”
She smiled, feeling intense pleasure at his praise. “Thank you.”
Ric held the door open for her. “Although I have to admit, Dee, that in the end, I still prefer you naked.”
Laughing, Dee walked into the restaurant. “And I still say—like a wolf with a bone, Van Holtz.”
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DEMON HUNTING IN DIXIE,
 
the debut from Lexi George, out this month!
A
ddy shot off the couch like she’d been bitten. The sword-carrying, creature-of-darkness-fighting dude from the park gazed down at her without expression. In the semi-darkness he’d been handsome. In the bright light of her living room he was devastating, a god, a wet dream on steroids. Tall and powerfully built, with wide shoulders and a broad chest that tapered down to a lean waist and hips, he was the most handsome man Addy had ever seen. His long, muscular legs were encased in tight-fitting black breeches, and he carried a sword in a sheath across his back. He was also a stranger, a very big stranger, and he stood in her living room.
“Who the hell are you?”
“I am Brand.” He spoke without inflection. “I am a Dalvahni warrior. I hunt the djegrali.”
“Of course you do.” Hoo boy, the guy was obviously a nut case. Real movie star material, with his shoulder-length black hair and disturbing green eyes, but a whack job nonetheless. Addy grabbed the back of the couch for support as a wave of dizziness assailed her. “That would explain the flaming sword and the medieval get-up you’re wearing. Nice meeting you, Mr. . . . uh . . . Brand.” She flapped her hand in the general direction of the door. “If you don’t mind, I’m a little freaked out. I’d like you to leave.”
“I cannot leave. The djegrali that attacked you will return.”
Addy clung to the couch for dear life as the room began to spin. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but I’ll be fine. Really.” She closed her eyes briefly and opened them again. “Dooley will protect me.”
He crossed his arms on his chest, his expression impassive. “Dooley? You refer, I presume, to the animal that led me to this dwelling?”
This guy was unbelievable. His superior attitude was starting to tick her off.
“The ‘animal’ is a dog and, yeah, I mean her.”
“This I cannot allow.” He spoke with the same irritating calm. Dooley, the traitor, ambled across the room and sat at the man’s feet, gazing up at him in adoration. “She would not be able to defend you against the djegrali.”
“Cannot allow—” Addy stopped and took a deep breath. She was dealing with a lunatic. He wouldn’t leave and she couldn’t run. She was too woozy to make it to the door. Best to remain calm and not set the guy off. Besides, the spike in her blood pressure made the dizziness worse. “Okay, I’ll bite. What exactly is this juh-whats-a-doodle thing you keep talking about?”
“The djegrali are demons.” He raised his brows when she gave him a blank stare. “Evil spirits. Creatures of dark—”
“I know what a demon is.” The guy thought he was a demon chaser, for Pete’s sake. “Okay, just for grins, let’s say this demon business is for real. What’s it got to do with me?”
“The demon has marked you. He will return. He will be unable to resist.”
“Oh, great, so now I’m irresistible. Just my luck he’s the wrong kind of guy. Don’t worry, I’ve got a .38, and like a good Southern girl I know how to use it, so you can leave.” She waved her hand toward the door again. “I’ll be fine. If this demon fellow shows up, I’ll blow his raggedy butt to kingdom come.”
The corner of his lips twitched, and for a moment she thought he might smile.
“You cannot kill a djegrali with a mortal weapon.”
“I’ll rush out first thing tomorrow morning and get me one of those flamey sword things, I promise.”
Again with the lip twitch. “That will not be necessary. I will protect you.”
“Oh, no, you won’t!” Addy straightened with an effort. Her chest still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. “I’d never be able to explain you to my mama.”
“This mama you speak of, she is the female vessel who bore you?”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t call her a vessel to her face, if I were you.”
“You fear her?”
Addy rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? The woman scares the crap out of me.
Thirty-two hours of labor, and don’t you ever forget it,
” she mimicked.
“You owe me. Big time.”
The eye-rolling thing was a mistake, because the room started to spin again.
“The mama will not be a problem,” he said.
“You’re darn tootin’ the mama won’t be a problem, ’cause you’re not going to be here!”
She stepped way from the couch and her knees buckled.
One moment he was across the room, his shoulder against the wall, the picture of aloof boredom, and the next she was in his arms. She closed her eyes and swallowed a sigh as she was lifted against his hard chest. The man sure had muscles, she’d give him that.
“You will recline, at once.” His tone was stern.
Okay, muscles and a few control issues.
She opened her eyes as he lowered her to the couch, and saw a grimace of pain flash across his features. It was the first expression of any kind she’d seen on his face, unless you counted the lip twitch thing. The man could give a marble statue lessons in being stoic.
She caught his arm as he started to rise. “That thing hurt you!”
He stilled, his gaze on her fingers wrapped around his wrist. “You are mistaken. The djegrali did not injure me. It is your touch that disturbs me.”
Addy stiffened and drew back. “Well, excuse the hell out of me.”
He caught her by the hand. “You misunderstand. You do not repulse me.”
He knelt down beside her. He put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face with gentle fingers. Addy stifled a gasp. Who was this guy? The merest touch from him and her breasts tingled and she felt all hot and wobbly inside. What was the matter with her?
“Look at me,” he commanded.
Sweet Sister Ruth, he had a voice like whiskey and smoke. She shivered and raised her eyes to his. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, a rapt expression on his face. His thumb drifted lower to brush her bottom lip. “You must be patient with me, Adara Jean Corwin. The Dalvahni do not experience emotion. It would be superfluous. We exist for one purpose and one purpose alone: to hunt the djegrali. For ten thousand years, this has been my objective, until now.”
“Ten thousand years, huh?” With an effort, she squelched the sudden urge to scrape the pad of his thumb with her teeth. No doubt about it, she was in hormonal meltdown. “Sounds boring. You need to get a new hobby, expand your horizons.”
“Earth is but one of the realms where the Dalvahni hunt the djegrali.”
Oh, brother, too bad. He was paying a visit to schizoid-land again. Then the impact of his words percolated through the fog of lust that set her brain and her body on fire.
“Hey, wait a minute, I didn’t tell you my name!”
“The animal you call Dooley informed me of many things, including how to find this dwelling.”
“You don’t say? Funny, she’s never said a thing to me in four years.”
He put his hand on her shoulder as she tried to sit up. “You will not rise,” he said with annoying calm.
“Oh, yeah? That’s what you think, bub.”
She pushed at his arm, an exercise in futility. The man was built like a proverbial brick outhouse.
His hand slid over her abdomen and down her running shorts to her legs. She froze. His hand felt hot against her bare skin.
“Dooley, come here,” he said.
The dog rose and trotted over to the couch.
Brand traced an intricate pattern with his fingers along the skin of her inner thigh. Addy began to shake. What was happening to her? This was so unlike her. All her life she’d struggled to rein in her reckless nature, the wild streak that made her mama wring her hands in despair. Self-control was her hard-earned mantra. Think first and feel later. But this guy . . . this guy really got her going, made her want to throw caution to the wind. She wanted to arch her hips against his hand, a
stranger’s
hand.
“Speak, Dooley,” Brand said with his gaze on Addy’s face.
“DOOLEY LOVE ADDY. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE,” the Lab said in the growly voice of a three-pack-a-day smoker. Flinging up a back paw, she scratched her ear. “CAN DOOLEY HAVE CHICKEN LEG IN COLD BOX? CAN DOOLEY?” Her head snapped around. “OH, LOOK, A BUG!”
There was a long moment of silence as Addy gaped at her dog in shock. Slowly, she raised her eyes to Brand’s.
“Who
are
you?”
A slight crease appeared between Brand’s brow. The expression in his eyes grew puzzled. “Until tonight, I thought I knew.”
Lowering his dark head, he kissed her.
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TOUCH OF A THIEF,
 
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O
nly once more,
Viola vowed silently. Though, like the Shakespearean heroine for whom she was named, she’d miss wearing men’s trousers from time to time. They were ever so much more comfortable than a corset and hoops.
From somewhere deep in the elegant row house came a low creak. Viola held her breath. The longcase clock in the main hall ticked. When she heard nothing else, she realized it was only the sigh of an older home squatting down on its foundations for the night.
The room she’d broken into still held the stale scents of cigar smoke and brandy from the dinner party of the previous evening. But there were no fresh smells, which meant Lieutenant Quinn had taken Lord Montjoy up on his offer to introduce him at his club this evening.
Probably visiting a brothel instead.
No matter. The house was empty and why made no difference at all.
She cat-footed up the main stairs, on the watch for the help. The lieutenant hadn’t fully staffed his home yet, but he’d brought a native servant back with him from India. During the dinner party, Viola had noticed the turbaned fellow in the shadows, directing the borrowed footmen and giving quiet commands to the temporary serving girls.
The Indian servant would most likely be in residence.
So long as I steer clear of the kitchen or the garret, I’ll be fine,
Viola told herself.
Besides, the stones would be in Lieutenant Quinn’s chamber. Her fence had a friend in the brick mason’s guild who, for a pretty price, happily revealed the location of the
ton’s
secret stashes. Townhouses on this fashionable London street were all equipped with identical wall safes in the master’s chamber. The newfangled tumbler lock would open without protest under Viola’s deft touch.
She had a gift. Two, actually, but she didn’t enjoy the other one half so much.
Slowly, she opened the bedchamber door.
Good.
It had been oiled recently. She heard only the faint scrape of hinges.
The heavy damask curtains were drawn, so Viola stood still, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the deeper darkness. There! A landscape in a gilt frame on the south wall marked the location of the safe.
Viola padded across the room and inched the painting’s hanging wires along the picture rail, careful not to let the hooks near the ceiling slide off. She’d have the devil’s own time reattaching them if they did. With any luck at all, she’d slide the painting right back and it might be days before Lieutenant Quinn discovered the stones were missing. After moving the frame over about a foot, she found the safe right where Willie’s friend said it would be.
Viola put her ear to the lock and closed her eyes, the better to concentrate. When she heard a click or felt a slight hitch beneath her touch she knew she’d discovered part of the combination. After only a few tries and errors, the final tumbler fell into place and Viola opened the safe.
The dark void was empty. She reached in to trace the edges of the iron box with her fingertips.
“Looking for something?” A masculine voice rumbled from a shadowy corner.
Blast! Viola bolted for the door, but it slammed shut. The Indian servant stepped from his place of concealment behind it.
“Please do not make to flee or I am sorry to say I shall have to shoot you.” The Hindu’s melodious accent belied his serious threat.
Viola ran toward the window, hoping it was open behind the curtain. And that there was a friendly bush below to break her fall.
Lieutenant Quinn grabbed her before she reached it. He crushed her spine to his chest, his large hand splayed over one of her unbound breasts.
“Bloody hell! It’s a woman. Turn up the gas lamp, Sanjay.”
The yellow light of the wall sconce flooded the room. Viola blinked against the sudden brightness. Then she stomped down on her captor’s instep as hard as she could.
Quinn grunted, but didn’t release his hold. Instead, he whipped her around to face him. His brows shot up in surprise when he recognized her. “Lady Viola, you can’t be the Mayfair Jewel Thief.”
“Of course, I can.” She might be a thief, but she was no liar. “I’d appreciate it, sir, if you’d remove your hands from my person.”
“I bet you would.” The lieutenant’s mouth turned down in a grim frown and he kept his grip on her upper arms. His Indian servant didn’t lower the revolver’s muzzle one jot.
“Did I not tell you,
sahib
? When she looked at the countess’s emeralds, her eyes glowed green.” The servant no longer wore his turban, his coal-black hair falling in ropey strands past his shoulders. “She is a devil, this one.”
“Perhaps.” One of Quinn’s dark brows lifted. “But if that’s the case, my old vicar was right. The devil does know how to assume pleasing shapes.”
That was a back-handed compliment if Viola ever heard one. She hadn’t really considered Lieutenant Quinn closely during the dinner party. She made little time for men and the trouble they bring a woman. Once burned and all that. Besides, she’d been too intent on Lady Henson’s emeralds at the time. Now she studied him with the same assessing gaze he shot at her.
Quinn’s even features were classically handsome. His unlined mouth and white teeth made Viola realize suddenly that he was younger than she’d first estimated. She doubted he’d seen thirty-five winters. His fair English skin had been bronzed by fierce Indian summers and lashed by its weeping monsoons. His stint in India had rewarded him with riches, but the subcontinent had demanded its price.
His storm-gray eyes were all the more striking because of his deeply tanned skin. They seemed to look right through Viola and see her for the fraud she was—a thief with pretensions of still being a lady.

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